Night of the Eryinyes
by Lysis
Summary: A story of the death of Kleitos the Black from Alexander's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**Night of the *Erinyes**

Author: Lysis, January 2012 (original post date)

*The Furies

**A story of the death of Kleitos the Black.

***References to the _Oresteia_ by Aeschylus and _The Bakkhai_ by Euripides were used in this story.

(I'm taking a break from posting new material right now due to a personal problem. So here's so old stuff.)

* * *

Marakanda, 328 BCE

The darkness was all encompassing, Arteimis would not shine, and even the crickets and other creatures that made up the sounds of the night had turned on him. It was cold and bleak, then hot as though he were burning in the fires of the Phlegethon and then plunged into the Cocytus where he believed he would languish forever.

Alexander groaned and clamped his hands over his ears hearing forever Kleitus' great bellow when the spear had cleaved through his guts. He felt as though the waters of the Styx itself ran in his veins replacing all else. His bed whereupon he writhed became all the woes of Tarterus ready to leap up and draw him down so deeply there would be no release.

Again and again it replayed, the scene: each step, each sound, movement, gesture, each word, every breath, heartbeat…his mind was aflame with it. He would scream aloud of the pain of it would it grant him relief, but that would bring the others. His Companions and he scorned everything, for he scorned most of all himself and could not bear to the see reflection in their eyes. _All_ of their eyes, there were none that were full of softness, none that did not, had not, would not stare at him in horror and disbelief, none. He lived again that scene that had been played out upon the stage he had stepped upon so unprepared. He turned and drowned his cries into the bedding beneath him, for so had Kleitus, he too had been unprepared, unknowing. Such a cruel deed had been executed upon him.

Again, almost in wonder, in terrible awe Alexander studied his hand, touching the fingers, rubbing the dried blood painting the palm overcome by the strength with which this very hand had loosed the spear that had killed the man he had known since a babe. It could not have been worse, but oh, it had been.

They had been accursed before they had even begun.

The worst to recall was when the God, He who had appeared so soon, too soon, almost as though he had been awaiting, knowing of Alexander's hubris, with that bright deliberate eye speaking of the insult Alexander had laid once again at his feet. He would suffer it no more and had loosed The Erinyes upon him.

And, like Pentheus, Alexander had seen the two suns in the sky and taken the God's gift in hand and abused and laid scorn as it had been heaped upon him to the point of the unbearable, and had done the act that had laid Kleitus in his grave.

He accepted now the punishment…The Erinyes. They surrounded him, their eyes aglow dripping with Kletius' blood, his voice crying for vengence from their mouths. He was chained to their torments. They lay their judgment upon his person so clearly, upon his hands, face and clothing which he would not allow cleaned, although Hephaistion and Bagoas had tried.

He lay enclosed in blackness were they reigned supreme on a night such as this after the crime he had committed. They were there sucking away at him binding him from within, heckling, terrorizing, taunting, twisting and slithering around him until he felt as though he was shackled by them. They crawled, climbing upward inside of him refusing to release him; there would be no peace, not for what he had done.

Soon after the terrible deed hoping to appease the God Alexander tried to lay waste to himself, by turning the spear on himself, but had been stopped. In his rooms again he had tried. He had flayed the skin on his person with his nails until they ran red with his blood but one did not reconcile Dionysius who had been robbed of what was rightfully his so easily.

"I offer too late for a hurt past cure." Alexander's voice stirred the spirits of the air in appeasement only to have it echoed back on him until it was all he heard. Other voices joined the chorus and he rocked back and forth in silent agony. The worst was Hellanike's which took up the voice of Clytemnestra bewailing that she had dreamt of giving birth to a snake that took suck at her breast drawing both milk and blood.

"I can hear her very voice ring in my ears, she cries to me, "Hold, oh, child, and have shame.*' Athena, grey-eyed one wilt thou not seek mercy for me as you did for Orestes? I beseech you!"

Fearing no relief would be granted, for he knew he deserved none so dreadful was his transgression Alexander lay back hands to his eyes willing that the Gods pass their sentence upon him, for he was already persuaded past reason.

To be continued….


	2. Chapter 2

Part II, Night of the Eryinyes

*Continues where Part I leaves off

* * *

He had fallen asleep. Alexander lay upon the floor feeling as though he were a beast and undeserving of the comforts of man. He lay there bearing the unbearable listening to the painful voices of those who came and went trying to rally him, force him to eat, drink, bathe change his clothing. What care had he of these things? They were of such little consequence to him. He was of such little consequence. What mattered anything? He could have done no worse than he had already done. Nay, he disagreed with himself, there was one other thing. Well, he sighed as he rested his head in his crossed arms. It was as near the same as the other. One father for the other, he had disgrace both with his actions.

On and on they came, throughout the day and night heedless of his desires to be left in peace to snipe, chide, cajole and think to console him. That such a thing should be possible…they were godless men. Their voices were as crows endless and loudly cawing of stupidity, begging that he think of himself, Macedon, the Army, on and on it went their torments.

He wanted no one, NO ONE, not Bagoas whose great eyes when he had looked into them wounded him all the more. Not even _Hephaistion_ who knew him well enough to at least know when to leave off. Earlier when he had come into his rooms, and after Alexander had roused himself briefly from his grief to speak with him, their eyes had met as Hephaistion had turned away. He could see how he was suffering for him, for all of them. That was Hephaistion, but he was past all care and added his suffering to his own letting it weigh him down feeling he deserved the awful weight of it. He was stained with all the blood of mankind. He sighed as the thought crossed him mind, a numbing one and closed his eyes against it.

Still they came against his wishes, aye; to reason with him, convince him with their philosophy what he had done was no terrible thing. Kleitos had been a low fellow, an ungrateful swine, a dog, a viper who full of treasonous poison had slipped in to wrap himself about Alexander until he had choked him so that he had no recourse but to loose himself from his grasp however possible. Did they not know that each word, every utterance they made just drove that spear in deeper? They were contemptuous of his agony.

Heedless of things, not caring it was day or night he neither took sustenance nor saw to his needs. He lay in his own sweat and piss. The scent of the dried blood, Kleitos' blood grew rancid about him as it mingled with these other odors. He would not be parted with it. He clung to it rubbing his face against the dried fluid. It was Kleitos, his essence he would not let go it. He mourned with Hellanike who called to him again and again, crying out until he felt he should go mad with the sound of her voice.

He beseeched her endlessly with promises of remorse that were he able to take back the deed he would do it to himself instead, but she mocked him with her endless wailing.

"Oh, Lanike, Lanike, my mother too, with my own hand I have slain thee as well. It were better you had never given me suck, but rather did strangle me with thine own hands while I lay soft in my cradle. Did you not know then by the look of my eye when it would alight upon you what I would become? Did you know not?" He had thought the words were in his head alone, but heard the swift intake of breath and opened his eyes to meet those of Ptolemy whose were filled with tears.

He leaned up on his elbows, "Dost thou not hear them Ptolemy, upon the window they scratch, The Keres they await us. I know this, here." He pointed to his head with a glimmer of something in his eyes that gave Ptolemy fright and he fled the room calling for Hephaistion. When Hephaistion came along with Aristander, his seer he would have none of them and turned his back on them.

He tore again at his skin and let his blood, a libation intermingle with that of Kleitos; they were bonded now by the carnage. The day following Kleitos' death he finally gave way to Morpheus, he had fought him long and hard, but had lost in the end.

He dreamed. He was in a fog; walking, lost...he could hear a Chorus in the distance. Then he saw above him a god walk. He was in the theatre at Pella. Helios had yet to rise although the flute's opening notes rang out echoing and hung still and bright in the air. He hurried to his seat, but found none. Nor was the cult statue of Dionysius in its place before the stage. There was only the stage and he found himself upon it. He knew nothing of his lines, or the play, the Chorus had its back to him. Slowly before him came the measured soft step of booted feet. He felt the hair on his nape rise and a shudder run through him.

He turned - his eyes he kept downward, he would not look up, he could not. His eyes sought the stage floor and saw the red boots advancing. Upon the breath of Zephyr he could smell the scent of the grape rise heavy about him. Against his will he looked upward toward the god walk but it was empty. Fear grew in him he lowered his head and began to breathe as though he had been running for miles.

"I have been slain yet there is no honor for me." Alexander heard the lines. He fell to his knees and looked up into the face gazing down into his - he screamed. The mask was the most ghastly he had ever seen, even worse than Pentheus after mad Queen Agave had carried his head upon her pole.

The God mocked him – his words rumbling throughout him gripping his heart in his unseen hand as through to pull it still beating from his body. He could not close his eyes upon the sight before him, but rather tortured himself forcing himself to look upon it, three headed the face of Kleitos turned to meet his eyes there was no escape from it.

"I have given thee word, direction. Know thyself I have said to thee, yet thou hast denied me." From high above him came this new voice the intonation, the condemnation ringing true. Cringing Alexander forced himself to look upward. He feared now, more than he could ever recall.

Phobos stood beside Apollo mocking him with a smile seeped in blood upon his lips that were open showing his cleaving teeth. Phobos was hideous to look upon, but it was the Pythian; Apollo Loxias who stood beside Phobos, his face one of terrible beauty that he feared most. This he would finally admit in the deepest place in himself.

"Oh Great One, Lord of the Golden Mean…"

"Do not speak for thy tongue is thine enemy and thy head is full of snakes." The Pythian answered him and waved his hand over his kneeling form. "Rise now, and go thy way, but recall this I watch thee and number thy days."

As Alexander rose slowly on trembling limbs that would scarcely aid him the Chorus turned, he began to back away, his eyes wide, his mouth open but void of sound. As one man they advanced upon him, Ptolemy, Perdikkas, Hephaistion, Leonnatus, Lysimachus, Aristotle, Krateros, Koinos, and others, on and on they came relentlessly, their eyes staring, open wide, full of nothing. Their song was so full of woe the earth shook:

"The regal halls I leave:

The shredded robe, the oft-dealt blow

The bleeding cheek whose furrows show

The handiwork of frantic woe

Bear witness how I grieve

Torn is the linen vest

That veiled my snowy breast

And smiles around my lips no longer play;

My heart with care opprest;

Is fed on agony from day to day.*"

Then he heard steps outward where the seats would be, he turned and saw against the lightening shadow of the sky the outline of a man. Short, stocky, he came slowly, with majestic grace into the theatre and sat upon the seat of the choregos. The light hit him full and Alexander came round to meet his father's face. Next to him came another figure, this time his face was the God, the beautiful youth, he smiled, and raised the goblet in his hand and poured the libation which stained the ground as bright as blood. Dionyisus' voice was clear as the glow of Helios now fully risen:

"They tell me that a stranger out of Macedon did come to Thebes,

He left behind his burnt offerings in my sacred precincts."

Alexander screamed again and fainted as his pages came running at the sound of his cries.

To be continued….


	3. Chapter 3

Part III – Night of the Erinyes

Continues directly from Part II

* * *

On the third day, following Kleitos' death Alexander began to stir from his lethargy. It was a painful, tedious process worse than recovering from any wound he had yet taken. Everything about him was though a weight he was yoked to and could not be rid of. The barest touch of Zephyr might cause him to falter and collapse. He felt the whisper of men's voices and their eyes upon him as though salt rubbed in an open wound. He scorned himself within and out. Following the pattern of the last few days, he dozed intermittedly and then awoke lying eyes wide open staring as though at nothing, he spoke little and continued to ignore all his own needs. He could hear life going on about him, the changing of the guard, the new faces of the duty pages that tiptoed into his chamber to see if they could serve his needs, his ears pricked to the whine of Peritias who would lie beside him and paw at him. He even failed to see to Boukephalus only giving orders for his care. This hurt him deeply, that he could not rouse himself enough to even see his horse or do more for Peritias than lay a limp hand upon his forehead when he gazed at him with his great dark eyes that seemed full of reflected misery.

The chatter of birds and the clatter of horses, the barking of dogs, animal mixed with human as they moved about the camp was all as one to him: a cacophony that taunted him by the very normality of it; the laughter of children, the song that their mother's sang as they went about their daily chores, the call of one man to another as they passed, the yeasty scent of baking bread, the aroma of roasting meat, the pungent odor of the horses and sweat of men; the rising and setting of Helios. All these things together began to bring him back to himself and with that came the knowledge that scorched.

Kleitos would never hear, see, taste, smell any of these things again. Throughout his life, Kleitos had been so much a part of the pattern, woven in so deeply that he had failed to notice that the thread was loosening and beginning to stray. When he had killed him, he had not just killed the man, but some part of himself, an innocence that had been kept sacred. Now it was violated. Yet, it was greater than that, for in the act itself he had slain something that had been sacred, the trust between the King and every free Macedonian. He had forgotten himself again Apollo's admonishment rang in his ears, "know thyself."

At length late in the afternoon, he roused to a waking vision. His revered ancestors Akhillies and Herakles had come recalling him to his duty. Herakles recounted with telling eyes and strong words the trials with which had beset him, yet he had roped them in and pulled them together until they bowed before him and became the greatest deeds of his life.

He bared his manly breast to show the great scars wrought from his battle with the Nemean lion. "I too carry the wounds of my battles, yet they did not slay me, for I bested them as I was the better man. With these hands, I did pull myself back again and again when the Erinyes would beset me. Yet did I cry out and beg the gods for release? Nay, for I am Herakles, Art thou not Alexander - does not my blood run true through thy veins? For truly, as I see thee now I do wonder who can be this man, this Alexander that lies low and weeps because he has slain a man who did insult thee in thine own hall. Art thou not thine own master?"

Alexander inclined his head slowly as Herakles' word fell strong upon him. "Then show that thou can master thyself in this else all the rest of thine life thee will fail." Hearing these words Alexander shivered. Defeat and fear became as the yawning, black maw of Phobos. From it came a mocking cackle that wove and spin in the air and with long, thin talons that sought to grab at him, but he drew back.

"Non," Alexander shook himself pushing away the dreadful face of Phobos. "I will not fail." However, his words rang doubtful in his ears.

Akhillies, his red gold hair flowing about his broad shoulders, his god wrought armor shinning, lifted a hand, and called out to him:

"Little Brother dost thou fear thy own failure?"

"Aye", Alexander had answered him his head hanging low and sighed admitting the truth, which with that realization swept its way toward the topmost of his thoughts. "Indeed, I fear I have already passed beyond the reckoning of reconciliation. My deed was cowardly and I am now bloodied with it."

"Dost thou wish to release thyself from thy suffering of this deed?"

"Oh, aye." Alexander cried out rending his garments as all came back to him: the costly words and bitter slaughter of a man who was as like family as well as Companion. Again, Kleitos' great cry of agony resounded in his ears. "Yet there is no taking back the spear that flew forth from my grasp."

"Then be no longer the mournful calf before the sacrifice, for that is done with. One stroke has done the deed. Be thou the man thou knowst thyself to be. Art thou not of my line? Would thee not stand before the daunting walls of Troy and sing as one voice the paean of Nike with me?

"I would."

"Then do so and leave off thy tears and wailing and lamentations for they are womanish. Think thou of the works of Thesus, Perseus, Jason, Odysseus, and myself and thy honored ancestor Herakles. Dost thou know my meaning? The scepter is yours it will not be taken from thee until the Gods are ready to pass it on. Wield it high for it is thine like or not and so are the duties that come with it. Do not forsake the sacred trust that has been given you."

Slowly the vision left him. He lay as though stunned, his spirit half gone beyond his physical being as it had been with the Immortal Ones. To gain its way back to the lower plane he lay quiet until he could feel again he was Alexander and knew where he lay. He shifted and groaned with disgust at the smell of himself. His hands felt at his face, which was dry and crusted with Kleitos' blood and the tracks of his salty tears. His hair was matted and torn from his rending fingers. He physically cringed as his fingers tore at his robe caked with filth and gore and the knowing what he had allowed himself to come to. Gathering his strength he called out then for his pages in a voice that shocked him so weak it sounded, so unlike that steady tenor that resounded so often in his ears. With all speed, his pages came on, followed by Bagoas who gave a great cry of relief that the King at last had come back to himself and directed to seeing to the care of his person. It was put out that the King was rousing.

Like a newborn babe, he tried himself, pushing outward carefully, as he came back into the living world. It was a new world he came into, one where he was still unsteady in himself. The eyes of those who followed, watching, waiting for some sign that the madness lay upon him still, he could not meet them steady. Not yet, but in time he kept the promise within, unspoken so it could not be wished away by a sign or omen.

Feeling low and careworn, he recalled the words from the vision and he allowed himself to be bathed, shaved, and clothed in fresh garments. Absently he took meat and drink, but did this only for his body's sake. The part of him, the raw, wounded part shied away from nourishment it would hunger a while longer.

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

End – Night of the Erinyes

Continues directly from Part III

* * *

They came on, his Generals, friends, and other statesmen to offer words of encouragement and guidance. Hephaistion, knowing him too well, came but only sat watching him as they shared a meal. He alone could look into his soul and saw he was suffering still. At length he took his leave but returned with the philosopher Anaxarchus. Many others, Aristander, Kallisthenes had come and gone their tiding full of good meaning and some offered a little solace, but not enough. However, Hephaistion knowing well the man who was his King sought a different route. The man would have to endure the suffering, and for this, knowing and seeing Alexander's anguish Hephaistion's felt as though he too had been slain, but the King must be brought to his senses and reminded of his obligations.

Anaxarchus stood before Alexander leaning over him his presence calm and reserved but his words full of power. "My King, art though not master of the world? " When Alexander replied with a shake of his head Anaxarchus continued to address him. "Then why dost thy lie as though a slave quivering and weeping fearful of men's words and the law? Dost thou not represent the law and regard its order for justice. Why did thou conquer and set laws upon those thou hast conquered unless it was to command? What care thee for the opinions of fools and lesser men? Does not Father Zeus seat himself with Justice and Law beside him to prove that all is done as proscribed by the ruler of the world in a just and lawful manner?"

Alexander was quiet, his mind set upon Anaxarchus' clever words. His eyes grew lighter, as his mind saw the truth in the words set before him. Then he was plunged into despair and self-pity again.

"Kleitos spoke true, though it hurt me, he spoke true and I heedless of the law slew him for it. It is not our way, I have broken with all of thee and become full of hubris, as a scapegoat thou should shun me. I broke faith with thee all and took into my own hands the role of tyranos."

"What?" Anaxarchus raised his brushy brows, his dark eyes full of intelligent thought and strode toward Alexander's panoply. With his hands he gestured towards the gleaming armor. "Did thee not conquer and win great battles on the field?" Without waiting for Alexander's response he continued as he took up one of the swords. "These swords thee wielded them without fear, without regret and went on to victory, did thou not? Did thou not say that nothing is impossible to he who will but try to put one's mind and being into any endeavor?

Straightening up, Alexander's face showed the words of the philosopher were beginning to sink in. "Aye, I did, and this is still true." He looked thoughtful for a moment then pulled a platter toward him and took a piece of bread and slathered honey upon it, rather a lot and licked it from his hand as it dripped. Chewing slowly he listened his entire focus upon Anaxarchus. He failed to notice Hephaistion who threw back his head and gave a soft sigh of relief. The seemingly simple act of Alexander's eating the bread and honey gave him hope. To others it would mean little, but he and perhaps Bagoas knew Alexander well enough to see it was a sign that he was coming back to himself.

"Then these are the words of Alexander? The man who had conquered his enemies both within and out? When they would call thee but a mooncalf, a mere boy, a youngling who should seek his mother's breast again and leave off the work of men did thee then lie low trembling with shame and fear?"

Alexander's lips formed into the ghost of a smile. "The Athenians are fond of calling me such things." Then with a great sigh, Alexander spoke slowly with great care as though with a child who is in need of learning their lesson over again. "However, though King of Persia and all its environs, I as king of the Macedonians am not above the law of Macedon which I do honor as I honor my ancestors, for I am also Macedon and this I _did_ forget. I mangled it with my rage and slew it when I let fly the spear from my grip."

"True, but thou art, Alexander!" Hephaistion stepped forward his voice lifting as to pour its strength into Alexander. "Thou art not a common solider, wanderer or plain man in the city! Dost thou forget this? Do you forget your quest, that which the gods have laid before you? The conquest your daemon had guided you toward since you were a boy. "

"Nay, I do not forget this, Hephaistion, but in my raging anger I became less than man and in that broke the fellowship of those around me and became a beast without reason. You know the depth of what I have done."

Hephaiston inclined his head and spoke strongly, his eye calm when meeting Alexander's. "Aye, I know it as dost thee, for no man may slay another without consent of the Assembly, and as we speak thus, the Army gathers to pass judgment upon Kleitos for his insult to thee. Thou art his king and he in his arrogance forgot this and was forward and familiar with thee and thus did wound then until thee had no choice but to defend thyself."

"Nay!" Alexander cried out, sweeping the table of its implements, the plates and cups crashing to the floor. "I forgot he had the right to speak as a man to me, and that I as his king had the responsibility to bear, to hear him with an open mind. Thus I denied him twice, his right to speak and his right to live." His eyes flamed and his cheeks with flushed with emotion.

Then Anaxarchas faced him, his face stern and solemn. "With these things we do not deny thy argument, but remember yourself, who you are and your duty. You are not as other men, thou art Alexander! The world looks to thee, recall thy obligations."

Slowly, Alexander reached out and took Anaxarchas' hands and holding them tightly he bowed his head before them. "Aye, and as Alexander I am falliable but I have heard thy words of wise counsel and will heed them well." He rose and turned toward Hephaistion and laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "My dearest friend, I thank thee for bringing this good man to me to rouse me back to my senses" He took a deep breath and smiled. "Now, I must seek forgiveness of the Gods before all else begins." A page was summoned, and directed that his seer be summoned forth. "Offerings must be made for Kleitos and to appease the Gods. Once I have seen these done then I will hear more of thy entreaties."

The Army hearing the king had roused himself from his self-imposed exile celebrated. There was much cheering and good hearted reasons for extra drinking and small celebrations. During a ceremony held the next day, the Army watched as their king was purified of his actions, and accept their decision to proclaim Kleitos a traitor, thus his death was appropriate and manner of execution worthy of his actions. However, they refused to allow his remains to be given a proper burial and this vexed Alexander. Finally, reminding them he was their king he proclaimed Kleitos would be buried according to the honors due his rank and privilege. The burial was private and small, as Alexander knew enough not to push the matter with the army who still felt Kleitos unworthy of any honor and felt his remains should be left on a cross for the crows to feast on.

Soon, the Army left Marakanda and its many tragedies and horror behind it. Men relaxed and laughed pleased to see their king more himself again. He rode with his Companions as before, feasted, hunted and seemed the man he had been before that terrible night. However, few knew that while the King had reconciled himself to his actions and left them behind them with each mile that passed, the man still suffered and with each mile his private anguish grew greater, but he knew what his work was and who he was. Perhaps someday, the man would be able to forgive himself, but for now the king could not allow it.

FINIS


End file.
